


Risky Business, Chris Pine Style

by bootson



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-09
Updated: 2009-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris + Lady Gaga = Tom Cruise?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risky Business, Chris Pine Style

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/trek_rpf_kink/713.html?thread=1089225#t1089225) at the [](http://trek-rpf-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**trek_rpf_kink**](http://trek-rpf-kink.livejournal.com/) meme. I kind of hate this song, but I saw the prompt, the song got stuck in my head and the rest is history.  
>  It’s not very slashy, really. So you can read that into it if you want (which I’m sure you do!) or not.

Sometimes, after a long day filled with stress and paparazzi, you needed to get creative to dissipate some of the residual tension. Chris had a plethora of relaxation methods which he chose to employ at various times. Most of them were basic, but some tended to be a bit more on the strange side. Today’s technique of choice was supposed to be drinks with Zach and, last he checked anyway, Kristen was possibly meeting them later.

When he stormed through his door well after eight in the evening, Chris was fielding calls. He was already irritated enough, no reason to exacerbate his mood. Throwing his phone on the coffee table as he passed through the living room on his way to the stereo, he flipped it on to whatever random top 40 radio station was already selected and cranked up the volume; neighbors be damned. Then he went for the shower.

Clothes were strewn in a line marking his path toward the bathroom. With the water nearing painfully hot, Chris felt the tension start to leak out of his system. The lyrics of the song filling the air were drowned out by the spray of the shower as it hit the muscles of his neck, shoulders, and back. The music made him think it was the new Daughtry song. Chris wasn’t sure, but that’s the song he sang anyway.

Finally satisfied that he wasn’t a ball of tension and smelled of shampoo, soap, and anything else _not_ sweat, he shut the water off and grabbed a towel. He only partially used it, content to let the air around him do its job while he rummaged through drawers and the closet. The end result was simple: very worn jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a faded blue button-down Zach had been trying to con him into disposing of.

A glance at the alarm clock by his bed told him he still had a while before he expected Zach to start texting and bitching about punctuality. Shrugging, Chris stepped into a pair of boxers and pulled on the shirts. He reappraised the jeans. Okay, so they were sort of wrinkled beyond belief. He grabbed them and headed for the dryer. Once the jeans were set on the fluff cycle, Chris glared at the machine. Zach was giving him a complex about clothes; they were going to have words about this later.

Deciding to let it go, he retrieved a beer from the fridge just as a new beat started blaring from the speakers in the other room. He hadn’t been paying much attention to it, but it was sort of infectious. Admittedly, he hated the song for one reason or another, but the damn thing was catchy as all hell. He gulped from the drink in his hand just as Lady Gaga’s voice reached his ears. Without realizing it, Chris was already moving to the beat.

_"P-p-p-poker face. P-p-poker face."_

By the time the chorus started, he was full on shaking his ass around the kitchen, singing into the neck of the bottle and drinking between the verses. He would forever blame his sister for this specific tendency to sing into whatever he was holding, but it was one of those strange stress relievers he had.

Chris did a bad variation of the moonwalk to transition from the kitchen tile to the living room carpet. He set a cheesy rhythm to how he was moving. His right arm practically flailing as he maintained a grip on his beer-slash-microphone and sashayed around the room. A few low kicks around the edge of an end table, something he refused to admit was the grapevine to the center of the room, _Saturday Night Fever_ strut down the far side of the coffee table.

_“I wanna roll with him, a hard pair we will be. A little gambling is fun when you're with me.”_ Using a brief pause in the music, he hopped onto the arm chair, turning in-place and doing a variation of headbanging. _”Russian Roulette is not the same without a gun. And, baby, when it's love if it's not rough it isn't fun."_

Jumping over the other arm and punching on the way down, Chris continued to sing the Oh’s and the next chorus while jumping to the beat. For good measure, he threw in some hip thrusts at what he was sure were _completely_ thrust-appropriate lines.

_"I won't tell you that I love, kiss or hug you cause I'm bluffin' with my muffin. I'm not lyin', I'm just stunnin' with my love-glue-gunnin'."_

He nearly busted out laughing mid-verse, but kept singing at the top of his lungs in a bad falsetto. Apparently, the internal laughter was subconsciously coming through more loudly so he could mock himself over the music and his voice. His inner-voice was sounding oddly similar to Zach.

During the last chorus, Chris had his free arm extended to point as he spun around slowly. It was a fairly impressive impersonation of Hugh Grant in _Love Actually_ that he had never practiced before, of course. That would be weird even for him, or so he would maintain.

The song was just reaching the final notes as Chris’ latest turn left him facing his front door….and Zach.

….Wait. What? At least this explained his inner-Zach voice as actually being an outer-Zach voice and an inner-oblivious nature.

“Fuck!” Chris muttered when the realization hit, his entire face starting to change color. Zach was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway hand over his mouth and an arm wrapped around his torso. The older man’s body was shaking so hard with poorly contained laughter than Chris almost worried he would dislocate something like a lung or a kidney.

What Chris assumed were meant to be words were coming out of Zach’s mouth. While Zach tried to regain some control, Chris moved across the room to shut off the stereo, which was now playing a commercial for something totally irrelevant. The laughter started to dissolve slowly while he stared at the buttons for a second and caught his breath. The room suddenly felt twenty degrees too hot, which had nothing to do with the physical activity he had just been participating in.

If anyone could play this off, it was Chris Pine. He was sipping from his beer when he faced Zach again, smirk firmly in place. Zach was mopping up his running eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, but Chris ignored him.

“Enjoy the show, Quinto?”

Zach just barely managed not to lose it again. “Man, how many times have you seen _Risky Business_?”

“I’m auditioning for the remake,” Chris said without missing a beat. Thankfully, the nonchalance was coming across nicely. Unfortunately, from his neck to the tips of his ears were various shades of an unmistakable red.

“I heard they’re redoing _Crossroads_. Maybe you can take over Britney’s character.” Zach’s eyes were shining with amusement and Chris had to force himself not to answer the look with his own entertained expression. Chris was distracted long enough to miss the way Zach’s eyebrows shifted in mock contemplation. “But first you need to get some practice in on a pole with ‘I Love Rock and Roll.’”

“Dude, how many time have _you_ seen _Crossroads_?” Chris countered with a laugh. Zach only chuckled and walked around him.

Chris glared, but was too close to laughing himself at this point to respond. Instead, he ended up with more mockery when Zach took up residence on the sofa with a six-pack of beer which Chris had failed to notice before.

“Idea!” Zach yelled. “I’m a genius.” He paused and waited for encouragement which Chris pointedly didn’t give him. “Christopher, inquire as to what my brilliance has created.”

Chris gave him a faux-glare. “If it involves disrespecting my kick ass dance moves, I want no part of it.”

“It’s all in your praise, babe,” he did his best impression of his publicist and motioned for Chris to join him on the sofa. Chris was suspicious of the sudden change, but went anyway. Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Zach pulled Chris closer to his side to stage whisper in his ear.

“Two words: Drag. Show,” he deadpanned. Chris gaped at him for about ten seconds. “Come on, you would be a hot woman! And Lady Gaga is, like, the new hero of the queens! You were born to do this!”

Chris continued to gape and Zach continued to layer on reasons registering Chris as a performer in a drag show at some liberal arts school somewhere far away made _perfect_ sense. By the time Kristen called to see where they were, Chris was lucky to get out of the house in jeans instead of a skirt and tights. He’d barely managed to keep Zach from locating some eyeliner but had the feeling that topic would be revisited at a later date.

He was also extremely suspicious of the text messages Zach was sending Zoe all night and was fairly certain there were pictures involved.


End file.
